Orientation
by The Legendary Falchion
Summary: How does one appropriately introduce newcomers to the strange and exciting World of Trophies, home of the glorious Super Smash Brothers? They could be shown around by friends already a part of the world, given a pretty pamphlet, or thrown into the back of Falcon's racer and dragged there. Guess which one's the most fun? WRONG. Now featuring one of the dumbest pairings ever!
1. It all happened so fast!

Note: ENJOY MY DUMB SHIT. MAYBE.

* * *

The soft cloak of pure snow that clung to every available surface made the Feroxi woodlands quiet and peaceful. The lone sentry on border patrol was grateful for this peace, what with the horrors of the not-so-recently-canceled apocalypse still fresh in his mind. It was nice to experience such a calm and beautiful environment, one untouched by any sort of violence or even movement of the slightest kind. Well, except for the sentry's own movements, but he figured as long as he didn't look to his feet the forest would appear as still and boring as ever.

Boredom had become this particular sentry's favorite word, pastime, and ideal, and he even considered it to be his ultimate state of mind. When he was bored, he was one with the world and not being subjected to terrifying acts of violence that could very well make him not with the world. As such, he had signed up for sentry duty every evening and had subsequently become the most popular soldier stationed at the border, beating out even the I-fought-right-alongside-the-Shepherds-and-Chrom-no-really-I-did-I-swear-on-the-Khan's-big-brown-Feroxi-arse guy. In fact, the sentry felt himself sinking further into his blissful boredom with every step. The familiar slow trudge of his feet and the buzzing drone within his mind grew more pronounced, and he felt the yawn that would bring him fully into peace building ever stronger behind his lips.

The drone grew louder and louder and the urge to yawn stronger and stronger until finally the sentry realized with a gut-wrenching drop that the buzzing wasn't within his mind and was in fact coming directly towards him.

A flash of blue accompanied by a sound the sentry could only relate to a dragon's roar swept by and knocked the panicked soldier on his rear, snow and outraged screams flying in the wake of the cerulean blur.

"Who the hell are you?!"

"Where is my father?"

"Where are you taking us, you dastard?"

"I don't think that's actually the word you want to use, is it?" Captain Falcon replied cheerily, continuing to ignore the questions of his less than pleased passengers just as he had for the past five minutes of the journey. "There's another word that rhymes with dastard that I find much more suitable and insulting than coward."

"Dastard doesn't mean coward," Robin sighed, his hands on his face as much out of frustration as out of the need to conserve space. The space behind the cockpit of Falcon's racer wasn't exactly, well, spacious, and Lucina's sword wasn't exactly a toothpick. In fact, it was exactly not a toothpick, and it took up a lot of the aforementioned not spacious space.

"Well, then what does it mean?" Captain Falcon inquired, both his curiosity and obliviousness completely genuine.

Lucina chose that moment to explode with righteous and indignant rage for the fourth time that ride, her hand flying to the hilt of Falchion as it rested awkwardly propped against her body. This gesture failed miserably as it had the last three times and Falchion once more skittered away from the princess's grasp. As Lucina continued to scrabble for the blade, her elbow violating Robin's space in painful ways, she roared her fury at their chauffeur.

"Don't you dare-"

"Ow."

"-try to change the subject-"

"Ow."

"-dastard!"

"Ow."

"You have attacked us-"

"Lucina, your elbow is attacking me again- OW."

"-and now you have kidnapped us-"

"OW."

"- with nary a sentence of explanation!"

"OW! Gods Lucina, your elbow is a veritable lance!" Lucina paused in her tirade to turn her blue glare upon the tactician, hissing, "My elbow is a veritable elbow and nothing more."

"If you're so desperate for information," Captain Falcon interjected, in his annoyingly chipper manner, "then I'll tell you."

"Finally," Lucina breathed, visibly deflating and letting Falchion finally fall to the floor in peace. "You have begun to speak reason-"

"But you have to define dastard for me first."

Robin threw himself against the opposite wall in an attempt to avoid the predicted flurry of piercing elbow attacks, but Lucina defied his expectations by promptly replying, "It refers to a dishonorable or despicable person." Falcon nodded sagely, jerking the steering wheel to the left to avoid splattering an Ylissean sentry like so much tomato paste.

"Got it. I guess you think I'm dishonorable because I use all of the tools available to me during a fight and don't fall exactly into your description of honor?" Robin responded this time, but only after putting a restraining hand on Lucina's face.

"Actually, no. We think you're dishonorable because you attacked us out of nowhere and then forced us into this strange contraption of yours." Falcon shrugged, narrowly avoiding yet another sentry.

"I felt that a direct approach would be more direct."

"Obviously."

"What the hell is that supposed to even mean?" Lucina spluttered, dragging Robin's hand away from her mouth.

"Well," Captain Falcon began, "my goal was to be very direct with you guys, and the best way to directly achieve that directness was to use a very direct approach and to do so directly."

Lucina blinked once, twice, and then slumped forward, her arms hanging limply at her sides.

"Fine. Now will you please explain your reasons for attacking us and kidnapping us?" she grumbled, looking less like a person and more like a brewing blue cumulonimbus with every passing second. Robin gulped. He hadn't had something to drink in a long time and his throat was annoyingly dry.

"I attacked you for a video shoot." Lucina's head snapped up and Robin's arms snapped up as well.

"I beg your pardon?" she said, confused. Falcon chuckled, waggling a finger at her.

"Now now, a pretty girl like you shouldn't beg for anything, not even my pardon. Whatever that's supposed to be."

"Uh-"

"Anyways, Master Hand wanted to do these super awesome reveal trailers for all the newbies so we can put on a big show for the fans- y'know, so we can get them super hyped about this new Smash Brothers tournament?"

"Wait what-"

"So I had this great idea: how about I go straight to your world and get a completely live bout? It would serve as both an ice breaker and an awesome trailer!" Captain Falcon broke off from his explanation- if it could be called that- and gesticulated violently, the racer swerving with every feigned punch and jab.

Lucina did her slow double blink again, Robin joining her in the act. They remained silent for a good minute, allowing Falcon to continue his mimed fight in peace. After he had deduced the best possibly strategy for tackling the issue at hand, Robin spoke up.

"I'm sorry to be repetitive, but… what?" Captain Falcon slapped his forehead, proudly displaying his sheepish grin like a troll king's banner, and replied, "Sorry, man; I forgot this whole thing is gonna be a culture shock for you." Robin's subsequent sarcastic eye roll nearly tilted the world with its languid annoyance.

"Yes, because culture is what we're worried about here. Honestly, you're making me feel bad for getting captured by yo-"

"So to fix that, I'm gonna bring you guys to the World of Trophies right now!" Before either of his unwilling passengers could even fathom their own protest, Captain Falcon jammed his fist into a large and flashy button that looked like it hadn't been installed so much as it had been affixed to the dashboard with months-old gum, haphazardly placed screws, and a single dab of glue. As such, the violent force so suddenly applied to the button sent it skittering to the side and revealed the pastafarian-esque tangle of wires beneath- wires that were now sparking with as much electricity as three Thoron blasts and were just as hell-bent on killing something as a mage that would cast three Thoron blasts in a row. The good captain stared at this catastrophe about to happen for a few seconds and then shrugged.

"Whoops." Before Lucina could scream her righteous outrage and Robin could cringe, the racer was awash in a psychedelic array of vibrant colors and black smoke that was abruptly cut off by a jarring collision with a sturdy stone wall.

* * *

A throbbing, pounding pain in his brain. A dull ache in his limbs and a stiffness in his burned back. All of these sensations registered very unpleasantly for the class Make Chrom Feel Miserable, and thus far they were A+ students. The Ylissean prince groaned, moaned, and opened his eyes to utter darkness.

"... shit."

* * *

Note: I don't feel like writing any more for this chapter for reasons born from both laziness and a fear of dragging it too long until I can't write anything else. I only apologize for the fact that it's basically all dialogue, and I kinda really am not sorry at all. It was fun to write.


	2. A King Surveys His Backstory

Note: Yay more idiocy YAY! Maybe. Such things are subjective.

* * *

The World of Trophies was enjoying a relatively rare period of peace, one whose end most everyone was dreading. The newcomers to the world and its nonsensical tournament were both confused as to what the hell was the purpose of it all and why everyone was attacking them- not to mention nervous about the prospect of continuing all the fighting against legendary heroes and villains from various worlds- and the old guard were apprehensive about both those they didn't know and those they definitely knew were coming back. After being away from each other for so long or just being newbies, the Smash Brothers were not exactly anticipating the inevitable get-together.

Well, most of them weren't. Two of them were.

Captain Falcon was psyched to see the flashy fruits of the video crew's labor, especially how awesome he looked in his fight with Lucina. He didn't know that they had cut a good portion his screen time and focused more on Robin's entrance, but what he didn't know didn't hurt his excessive hype level.

Marth Lowell, on the other hand, just liked people and getting to know them. He lived off of camaraderie and his wife's cooking, and he felt great joy from earning the trust and friendship of others. As such, the king was excited to reunite with his old comrades and become acquainted with the newcomers; in fact, he had offered to host the big pre-tournament meet-and-greet at the newly renovated Battlefield Fortress, an offer to which Master Hand readily and hastily agreed. The leader of the World of Trophies was very glad to pass off the task of keeping a very large number of very powerful beings from breaking a very large number of things, like infrastructure, other very powerful beings, or the tournament stadium. Again.

Marth wasn't concerned about this. Making order out of chaos wasn't too hard for a charismatic king and general who was used to fiery explosions, rampaging monsters, and people getting pissed off for extremely stupid reasons, like being drunk or taking a piece of pizza(or a throne, for that matter) someone else called "dibs" on. Besides, the Battlefield Fortress wasn't actually his castle even if he had thought up and directed most of the renovations- it was Master Hand's, and the giant glove would be paying for any damages regardless of whether or not he himself hosted the meet-and-greet. All Marth had to provide was the food and entertainment- so really he just had to ask Caeda to visit and bring the castle's kitchen crew with her, a task she was happy to accept.

Thus the king made sure that affairs in Archanea were stable and left early for the World of Trophies. As soon as he arrived, Marth set to preparing for the gathering with gusto. However, since everyone else was putting off coming to the World of Trophies for as long as they possibly could, the project was doomed to be finished a long time before anyone showed up. Marth hadn't quite thought through his back up plan for entertaining himself and had even forgotten to arrange for Caeda's transportation, and it was a bit harder to get out of the World of Trophies if one didn't have either a rather advanced means of transportation or a currently happy and compliant Master Hand. Obviously, the king had neither of these things; even though he would be in Master Hand's good books for the rest of the tournament, he didn't quite have enough pull to demand Master Hand take him home after already asking the giant glove to bring him to the World of Trophies- and early at that.

And so the king was forced to find an alternate avenue for occupying himself. Luckily for Marth, said alternate avenue ungracefully thrust himself into the Battlefield Fortress and declared that he would be making epically awesome trailers for the next tournament's newbies and could he foist some of them onto Marth afterwards, thank you very much, 'kay thanks bye!

Confused as he was by the grammar with which the request was made, Marth accepted Falcon's demand as if he had a choice in the matter and did so with pleasure. It wasn't as if Falcon was trying to pull one over on him; the racer was less malicious than he was obnoxious and so the king could be certain that no ulterior motives were present. Besides, not only was it something to do, it was basically a less concentrated version of what Marth had arrived early for in the first place.

It was this that he awaited as he strolled through the fortress's courtyard, expecting Falcon to arrive within the hour. The pilot had made up a schedule for his video shoots and therefore a schedule for throwing the unwitting newbies at Marth's gate step, and apparently two were to arrive at noon that day. He kept as quiet as he could as he traversed the cobblestones, listening for the telltale screaming, cursing, and blaring rock music that normally accompanied Falcon's racer whenever he had passengers. It was this strange mix of sounds that led Marth to believe Captain Falcon was actually an accidental time traveler, one who had caused the initial demonization of the rock and roll genre that Snake had mentioned once in passing for no reason other than to attempt to scare the normally collected king. Snake never made himself known before making random passing mentions of random passing things. The theory made more sense than people honestly believing there were Satanic messages to be heard when such songs were played backwards, and Captain Falcon's choice of accompanying sounds was a lot more offensive to the ears and sensible mind than playing songs backwards. Of course, the main problem with the theory was how the hell Captain Falcon was a time traveler and an accidental one at that, but as long as the hypothesis wasn't rejected, Marth refused to put the notion aside.

At least the cacophony that accompanied the good captain's arrival only lasted a few seconds before the inevitable earth shaking crash- Falcon didn't know or at least pretended not to know the definition of a speed limit and didn't even believe in Einstein's special relativity, or as he called it, "that physics bull shit always trying to cramp my style!" He also didn't know how to turn that well, a fact that both completely contradicted the existence of his many racing accolades and cost many people and giant gloved hands a lot of blood, sweat, and money.

This time, however, the crash materialized out of nowhere and led Marth to believe- if only for a moment- that Snake had never left and was still trying to scare him. As such, the king blinked twice slowly before making his way to the portcullis and what was left of the wall beside it. He leapt nimbly and gracefully over the various piles of rubble, double-checked for a conspicuously human-shaped mound, and then stopped beside the crumpled blue racer.

What Marth saw inside gave him cause to perform the slow double blink that science had yet to realize was actually genetic and scratch the back of his head, a gesture he hadn't performed since the disaster of nonsense that was Subspace. The king stared at the unconscious forms of Captain Falcon, the vaguely potentially evil robed guy that reminded him quite strongly of Kris, and the apparently female version of himself wielding his same sword with minor cosmetic changes for a good minute before deciding that was relatively creepy even considering the circumstances and shrugged it off. Creepiness was not his style; kindness was, especially kindness under extenuating and/or odd circumstances, and so he squared his shoulders and pried the racer's rippled metal door open.

There was a screech, a second screech, and then the door was thrown directly in his face. Marth had time to reflect on how little time had elapsed between Captain Falcon's departure and his arrival with the two new members and how that was probably working against him at the moment before drifting into unconsciousness.

* * *

Lucina held Falchion at the ready, her shoulder merely throbbing intensely where it had abruptly and violently collided with the strange vehicle's door, as she peered out at the man who had been about to attack herself, her friend, and the dastard.

She then realized who the assailant actually was, understood that he was most definitely not trying to attack them and rather was attempting to help, and hit herself in the head in penance. The princess severely underestimated both her own strength and her passionate desire to punish stupid assumptions and knocked herself out.

* * *

"Hello? Is anyone there? Robin? Lucina? … Nope, still nothing. It's so dark, too. Hm… let's try… this- OH GODS MY LEG! Oh, I am hurt! I am very much hurt!"

* * *

Note: This chapter made even less sense to me than the last one and even had more run-ons. Oh well. That's kinda the point(or at least that's what I tell myself when I can't cry myself to sleep). Some of the obligatory-exposition-for-making-slightly-more-sense is out of the way now.

Chrom's struggle continues.


	3. Doors are good conversation starters

Note: Because I have no life and am therefore the end result of an infinite number of monkeys with typewriters failing to write Shakespeare and coming up with this instead, have fun. Or not. I can only do so much- you have to make that effort and cross the bridge to enjoying endorphins yourself.

* * *

Ike had a catchphrase problem.

At the beginning of the Brawl tournament, the mercenary had decided to make the line "I fight for my friends" one of his victory quotes. He thought it was an apt descriptor of how he conducted his band of mercenaries and his primary motivation for invading various countries and beating their leaders' faces in.

He had expected his opponent to be impressed by his frankness and purity of motive when he first uttered the line, but instead Ike had received a mere slow double blink.

"And what of it?" had been the accompanying query. It hadn't been mocking or deriding in any way; in fact, the statement had been simply curious and almost bored.

Ike remembered looking and feeling very, very stupid. All he could muster in response to the response was a weak, "Um." And this "um" was all the fuel Marth had needed to drive a roaring monster truck of logic all over Ike.

"It's just that you're not the only who fights for your friends, not even close. Multiple incarnations of Link have told me that they have been motivated to fight Ganondorf in order to protect friends of theirs or even family members, and even Snake has mentioned in passing that he occasionally thinks of his friends when confronted with yet another potentially world-ruining problem."

"But I-"

"Besides, the man whom you replaced, a good fellow by the name of Roy, fought to defend his comrades, so you're not even the first guy to wield a flaming sword who fights for his friends. Far from it, really."

"… what's your point? And who the hell are yo-"

"My point, good sir, is that your chosen catchphrase does not represent a circumstance or motivation that is unique to you, and so you should think of one that suits you better." It was then that Ike had attempted to regain control of the situation, puffing himself up and lifting his head in a stereotypically macho manner. He didn't actually like doing that kind of thing, but the mercenary had hoped to instill a feeling of inferiority in the other blue haired swordsman by making him feel less masculine than Ike. Boyd had told him it was a surefire way to succeed in any situation, but as Ike had judged by Marth's amused grin, Boyd's suggestion failed. He should have seen that coming, but it still threw him off and made him splutter just a little bit in his retort.

"W-well, I do fight for my friends! The phrase suits me well!" Marth's grin had stretched wider.

"Well enough to claim it suits you better than I?" That had caught Ike off guard, and he deflated instantly.

"What?" Ike then began to see that amusement wasn't the only emotion expressed in Marth's countenance; rather, it was sharing space with an open friendliness.

"I propose a contest between you and I, good sir!" Marth exclaimed hammily, sweeping his arm up and accidentally smacking the passing Bowser in the face. Neither prince nor turtle flinched, and Ike stared. "We shall prove who is the better at fighting for his friends- and thereby whom the phrase suits better- by fighting for each other!" It was then that the hastily raised arm fell down, and Ike found a hand proffered to him. He took it with a wide grin of his own as he understood why he had just gone through whatever the hell that actually was, showing Marth that he got it by holding the prince's warm gaze.

"Ike Gawain."

"A pleasure to meet you, Ike. I am Marth Lowell." And it was then that Ike had decided to both be the greatest friend Marth had ever known and eventually crush the prince's logic, thereby claiming the catchphrase as his and his alone.

He didn't do it in Brawl- hell, he had even lost "You won't get any sympathy from me" to the indiscriminate onslaught of Marth's logic- but he was damned if he wouldn't reclaim the catchphrase in this tournament.

In fact, when Master Hand had hinted that the warrior might not be returning in favor of another blue-haired swordsman, Ike had taken the giant glove aside and explained very patiently that he really needed to stay and regain his honor as an inventor of catchphrases. When further questioned, Ike attempted to sum it up with a simple statement of, "Marth," but this only confused the glove further. The glove's continued bafflement greatly frustrated the mercenary, and Ike began violently elaborating that he needed to beat Marth but never specified in what way or why and therefore exacerbated the situation, leaving Master Hand with the assumption that some domestic dispute was underway and leaving Ike pissed off.

Still, he wound up getting invited back, so Ike could only assume that his argument had gotten through to Master Hand. His invitation had actually been predicated on Marth's marriage to Caeda as it had proven the giant glove's worried assumption wrong, but Ike didn't need to know that.

What Ike did know was that he had buffed up a considerable amount since Brawl, a fact he hoped would not lead to misconceptions about his intelligence or that he relied on what Boyd would call a "manly image" in order to maintain his pride and self-esteem.

Of course, Robin's presence as the master tactician who was definitely not buff wouldn't help matters, but Ike didn't know about that yet.

All he was thinking as he made his way to the Battlefield Fortress was how surprised and happy his best friend would be to see him. He wasn't expecting a crash site and three other guests to be there as well, so Ike was rather taken aback when he saw billowing smoke rising from the fortress. In fact, he was so taken aback that he did not forget to commence running straight for the scene as opposed to standing and gawking like an idiot as everyone would have expected.

What he screamed as he ran, however, would have perfectly matched with the image of an idiot bystander.

"Holy shit! Holy fucking shit! Hooooly shiiiit!" Whether this was uttered in the name of irony and self-serving humor only Ike knows, as he was abruptly knocked out by a flying metal door upon reaching the crash site.

* * *

"Lucina, will you please stop throwing doors at people?" Robin groaned, massaging his temples in an attempt to ease both his physical and mental aches in that region. The princess coughed slightly, her hand on her shoulder.

"I was caught off guard by his brutish yelling and as such opted to damage him before he could damage us."

"Normally I wouldn't have a problem with that, but at this rate, your protective reflexes are going to get us killed." Lucina huffed, crossing her arms and then uncrossing them, wincing and glaring at her shoulder. "That would have been avoided too if you had just thought about what you were doing before charging recklessly into a SOLID METAL DOOR."

"I think her actions were perfectly reasonable. It's what I would have done," Captain Falcon interjected, looking up from his examination of Marth. Lucina blanched, her eyes widening in horror, and fell heavily to the ground with a defeated thump.

"What have I done?" she breathed, her voice strained with despair. Captain Falcon scratched his head.

"I feel like I should be insulted by that," Captain Falcon observed in his usual manner of nonchalance. He maintained this demeanor even as Robin and Lucina's glares turned on him for the umpteenth time. Upon realizing his current stratagem was doing nothing to help the situation, Robin returned his accusatory glower to Lucina and snapped, "Do you finally understand how rash your actions were?" Ever defensive, the princess retorted, "I still think you're overreacting by claiming I'll cause our dooms with this behavior. As I recall, my acute reactions saved our lives many times during our campaign to stop Grima."

"Like the acute reaction that led to you trying to murder me and thereby end all of our chances at destroying Grima once and for all?" As Lucina's lips clamped tight on her own protest and beheaded it, Robin continued. "Besides, look at who you attacked first. That man is your damned ancestor and the reason you exist!"

"Wait," interrupted Falcon once more, "she's related to Marth?" Once more, two baleful gazes were turned upon the good captain, and he tilted his head as he considered Lucina. His eyes lit up like light bulbs and he snapped his fingers, baring his teeth in a face-stretching grin. "Oh, I see it now!"

"How could you not see it before?!" Lucina raged, her elbow driving a lance of pain into Robin as he stepped forward to restrain her just as she reached for Falchion. As the tactician stumbled back, breathless, the princess stalked over to Captain and drew the legendary blade. "My blade is his, my garb his, and even my hair and eyes! Are you truly so oblivious?" Captain Falcon pondered her enraged words for a second, his eyes assessing the threat level of both her sword and her elbow as he calculated the risk of his preferred response to this statement. His personality won over his reason and he decided to throw caution onto the bloody racetrack of life.

"Well, for starters, your clothing isn't actually that similar to his, what with his cape and tunic being longer and lighter than yours, and even your swords look slightly different. Your hair, while mostly the same weird yet strangely prevalent blue as Marth's, is a lot longer and frames your face differently. You're also more prone to outbursts and overreacting than he is from my current experience with you both, so it's not like I could make a connection there." Lucina whirled on Robin, her lips curled in a snarl, as she spat, "Don't you dare say 'I told you so.'" Robin affected a demeanor of "Who, me?" as he pointed at himself with a weak air of innocence but was spared retribution as Captain Falcon added, "I was also too busy kicking your face in when we met and then too focused on driving after that, so I couldn't get a good look at you anyways."

Lucina pounced, and Falcon whooped as he went down amidst a flurry of precision sword and elbow strikes. Marth rose groggily, his hand clapped to his forehead, and glanced over at the tangle of limbs that was the one-sided battle between the good captain and the princess. He stared at it with a lack of comprehension before understanding dawned with a slow blink, and Robin was intrigued to recognize the gesture. The king turned to face the tactician, and they held each other's gazes for a good minute, unfazed by the righteously infuriated yelling that battered their eardrums.

"Captain Falcon kidnapped you."

"That he did."

"You have my sincerest apologies and my sympathy, sir…?"

"Robin, sire," Robin answered, inclining his head in respect. Marth returned the gesture, albeit less deeply, and replied, "I am Marth, but I have a feeling you knew that." Robin nodded and then looked to his companion.

"Um. I'm… sorry. About her and the door." Marth chuckled, shaking his head.

"There is no need for you to be, nor indeed a reason for her to be sorry either. Captain Falcon has a way with people that inspires them to such actions regardless of their normal demeanors." Robin was less sure of this, cautiously eyeing Lucina as her elbow blows rivaled the expert lance work of her mother.

"Sure." Marth looked at the tactician and shrugged. The king then crawled over to the brawl and gently tapped Lucina on the shoulder, halting her outraged onslaught and drawing her attention to him. Marth gestured towards Falcon and stated, "Sorry about him. He's usually like this, so you'll just have to get used to it." Understanding the tacit offer of forgiveness in the sentence, Lucina nodded sheepishly and inched away from the pilot.

"Understood."

"Might I have your name?" Marth asked.

"I am called Lucina," she answered, feeling more awkward by the second. Marth recognized this and opened his mouth to rectify the situation, but then shut it promptly when he realized he didn't really know how to make meeting your ancestor with whom you share a strong resemblance less awkward. Captain Falcon thought the moment was perfect for him to be himself, and he lunged forward.

Before he knew what was happening, Marth was being dragged over to the wreckage of the racer by a particularly exuberant pilot.

"I'm sorry, I just realized I'm late for my next trailer!" Captain Falcon explained cheerily, waving away Robin and Lucina's protests.

"Do you absolutely, positively, without a single doubt, and swear on your life that you need me for this?" Marth inquired calmly.

"Yep."

"All right." They reached the crumpled racer, and Captain Falcon punched the somehow loosely attached button from before. As a seizure-inducing light show engulfed the two, Marth's eyes widened in realization and he opened his mouth, only to be cut off by his own abrupt disappearance.

Robin and Lucina blinked, only once this time.

"Uh, newbies?" The tactician and the princess whirled around, ready for a confrontation, only to face a really baffled Ike. "Yeah, hi. Where's Marth?"

"He just… left," Robin responded, slowly. Ike swore, prompting a query from Lucina.

"What is the matter?"

"He has the keys." Lucina exploded. Again.

"That damnable, obnoxious fool, taking Marth away like that! When that dastard returns, I'm going to-"

"I told you so."

"YOU ARE INSUFFERABLE!"

* * *

"For Naga's sake, will someone please- oh?" Chrom stopped his futile yelling as a strange vibration came from beneath and around him, and he tried sitting up. He lay back down as soon as his head came into contact with a very hard and unyielding surface and began to pound as if he had just tried arguing with Robin. "I'm not going anywhere soon, am I?"

* * *

Note: The monkeys really confused themselves with their tense usage and past perfect constructions in this chapter, but oh well. Laziness is a bitch when it comes to editing.

As a side note, the monkeys asked me to edit this several times after they uploaded it and have subsequently realized that they should at least be consistently good at being bad. I think we're all just idiots.

The monkeys have also found that it is much easier to consistently update when chapters are shorter. So that's everyone's secret… Cough.


	4. The Xenobush Chronicles

Note: I am not the Great Mighty Poo, but I'm still going to throw my shit at you. Well, type it at you.

* * *

When Shulk went out that morning, he was expecting to find some spare parts for a side project he was working on. He was expecting to enjoy himself in this rare period of stress-free time, to be relaxed, and to not be on guard.

Still, the young man had to thank his lucky stars that he had decided on gut instinct to bring the Monado, as that talking bush turned out to be a lot more violent and a lot less plantlike than he had initially assumed after the overwhelming surprise had worn off.

When he first heard a distinctly male voice sound from the lush shrubbery that marked his path, Shulk was worried that the bushes were actually members of a yet undiscovered race of sentient beings that just so happened to look like bushes and that his people were guilty of genocide. Again. This idea was further reinforced when a second voice joined the first in conversation, but the young hom then noticed that both voices came from a single bush and thusly deduced that two people were hiding in it.

What they said also helped him arrive at this conclusion.

"Remind me why we have taken up temporary residence in this bush?"

It must be mentioned that Shulk is not a stupid man, and because he is not stupid, he very quickly surmised that if the bush had actually been a sentient being it would not have been able to hide in itself or be inclined to refer to itself as "this bush."

"We're waiting for our dude to come along."

Shulk tensed, changing his grip on the Monado's hilt to a defensive one, and peered into the thicket. He couldn't see anything, so he decided to stop straining his eyes and simply continued to listen.

"You said that last night when you refused my suggestion to venture into town, Falcon, and yet no one came."

"I know. That was my bad. By the way, I'm really grateful to you for not complaining about that or attacking me with your elbow."

"I am admittedly incapable of wielding lances with any amount of skill, so I believe only Lucina is capable of such attacks."

Shulk almost spoke up to mention how there was no true connection between the deadly tool of murder that was a lance and the nub of bone that was an elbow, no matter how sharp said nub may be, but he remembered that he didn't know anything about these people aside from the facts that they were looking for someone and that they were hiding in a bush. Normal people with absolutely no violent intentions didn't usually combine those two activities into one. With that in mind, the young man resolved to remain silent no matter what odd leaps of logic the two unknown men made. The second voice continued in a more amused tone than before.

"Besides, the delay matters less to me than it does to the three people whom you locked outside."

Shulk could swear he saw the leaves of the plant move in a shrug of acceptance and almost believed in the possibility of sentient shrubbery again.

"I'll just tank Lucina's rampage again."

"She does like going off at you."

"I think it's because she likes me."

"Really? It's unlike you to say that, Falcon."

"Yeah, you're right. I was just joking. I know that she resents me for punching her and her dad in the face without explaining myself first-"

"I doubt an explanation would have made matters any less tense between the two of you and may have exacerbated the situation instead."

"–and I know I'm way too obnoxious to be a ladies' man."

"At least you can acknowledge the truth."

"I'm just a real man like that. Now, I could be a ladies' man if I wanted to, I just don't want to."

"I believe you, just as I believe that young blond man is the one we're looking for. Am I correct?"

Shulk was slightly taken aback to be referred to so directly by the man, and as affable as the unknown beings seemed(if a bit unhinged), the young hom couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't going to just talk to him. He shifted his stance to one that was both more stable and allowed for a sudden dodge if necessary.

"You are indeed, Marth. Has anyone ever told you that you're pretty astute?"

"Not when I've made fairly obvious observations that people simply haven't noticed yet."

"Fair enough. Now go attack him."

"Wait, what?"

Shulk gritted his teeth, brought the Monado into guard position, and was somehow surprised by the vision of the future that he had expecting for quite some time now. The occurrence of the vision didn't surprise him, but its content did.

From where he had been apprehensively anticipating an armed man to spring, brandishing his weapon of choice, the young hom instead witnessed a confused man only slightly older than him stumble out of the bush, as if he had been shoved. This man was armed, yes, but the sword was sheathed, and he stumbled further as his cape got snagged on the limbs of his former hidey-hole. All in all, it wasn't a very threatening vision.

Sure enough, once the vision ended, the stumbling and bumbling commenced, all of it culminating not in Shulk's demise but the demise of a substantial part of the unknown man's dignity. The blue-haired man regained some of this dignity in Shulk's eyes when he acknowledged his goof with a resigned shrug and an amused smile, turning then to look Shulk directly in the eyes and extend a friendly hand.

The bush man had defied his expectations thus far and since there was no future vision warning him against reciprocation, Shulk decided it was safe to accept the proffered hand.

"I apologize for my colleague," the man stated, his grip firm and friendly. "He's been anxious to meet you, sir…?"

"Shulk, formerly of Bionis, and there's no sir," Shulk replied, glancing over to the bush. "Who are you?"

"I am Marth, king of Altea, and my colleague is called Captain Falcon." The bush rustled violently, and the other man popped into view like the kind of guy who plays "Think fast!" games with random old ladies.

"Marth, why aren't you attacking Shulk?" Captain Falcon inquired, his eyebrow arched and his arms crossed in displeasure. Marth shrugged as Shulk stared on in a mixture of confusion and amusement at the Captain's demeanor.

"I make my own decisions, Falcon, and assaulting a man who has done me no wrong holds no interest for me." Captain Falcon let loose a long and heavy sigh, shaking his head slowly as his breath set off a storm with the potency of Jupiter's red spot and replaced the Butterfly Effect with the Falcon Effect.

"Have you forgotten why we're here?" Marth replied with a slow double blink, one that gave Shulk the distinct impression that one could only get temporarily used to Captain Falcon.

"No. We're here to shoot your next big trailer, aren't we?"

"Yes. And that means…?"

"Shulk is going to be staying at the Battlefield Fortress for quite some time." Shulk was once again reminded that he did not know these people and had absolutely no clue as to what their intentions were, but he doubted he had a say in the matter. Besides, at this point, he was less concerned for his safety than he was for his sanity.

Captain Falcon titled his head to the side, his lips pursed in a frown, and replied, "Yeah, I guess, but that's not what I was getting at." There it was again- the slow double blink.

"Yes, I know," Marth said, with more patience than fans of the Half-Life series. "I do not want Shulk to become the Lucina to my… you." This got through to the good captain, and he nodded in complete understanding.

"Gotcha."

"I know not who this Lucina person is," Shulk commented, "but she sounds violent."

In explanation, Marth stated, "Falcon," and Shulk responded with a simple, "Ah."

"Speaking of," Captain Falcon interjected at large volume, "I really can't go back until we've at least got some footage for the trailer." With that, he whipped a video camera out of thin air and held it up to his eyes. "It won't be the most professional cinematography, but I'm sure the video crew can pretty it up for me. Now, fight!"

The slithering scrape of steel that followed caused Shulk to leap away from the suddenly aggressive Marth, eliciting a chuckle from the king.

"I have more honor than that, you know," Marth commented, his eyes twinkling. "I was going to officially challenge you to a friendly duel, and there is little point in doing so without readying my weapon." Once again, Shulk replied with a simple, "Ah," and reflected that his rare time of relaxation had slipped away before he even knew it. In fact, the next several periods for rest had probably run after that one as well. Mentally shrugging his own acceptance of that fact, Shulk settled into a ready stance as his opponent raised a gleaming silver blade to eye level and declared, "Shulk, I challenge you to single combat!"

"Wait, single? But what about-"

"You have a camera, or have you already forgotten?" Marth snapped, and Captain Falcon showed his free palm in a placating gesture.

"My bad. I just get hyped, y'know?" Marth ignored him.

"Do you accept my challenge, sir Shulk?" The young hom inclined his head and responded, "Yes."

"Then I welcome you to the ranks of the Super Smash Brothers!"

And just like that, Marth flew at him, his silver blade arcing towards Shulk's neck, and a brief flash of the future revealed to the young man that the move was a feint. Shulk feigned a frontal block and then snapped the Monado to cover his side, but he only just barely blocked the attack, leaving him astounded at the other man's speed. He shoved Marth's blade away and whipped his own towards his opponent's chest, but it was stopped- mere inches away.

They paused, gazing at each other and gauging the skill that had been displayed in that extremely short clash. Liking what they saw, the two swordsmen grinned at each other.

This was going to be fun.

* * *

Chrom was very surprised to discover a slit of light when next he awoke, and he surged towards it almost immediately. When his head once more collided with a very solid object, he was forced to rethink his strategy and wish he were Robin. After the hammers had stopped pounding against his various lobes, Chrom shifted around in the confined space and braced his arm against what he thought to be the ceiling. Sure enough, the slit of light widened, and, galvanized by his success, Chrom threw himself against the wall. It slammed open, and the crown prince of Ylisse released a very un-princely whoop of joy.

He couldn't have known that Captain Falcon's trunk had split from the rest of the vehicle upon teleportation and was balanced on the edge of a cliff, so no one could fault him when his whoop of joy turned into an undignified yelp of surprise.

* * *

Shulk had never enjoyed a battle as much as he enjoyed his duel against Marth. It was exhilarating to match swords with another specialist in the art of swordplay, and especially one as fast as Marth was. In fact, the king had the edge in that regard, but the greater leverage of the Monado, the brief visions of the future, and Shulk's own skill kept him at bay. The quick jabs of Marth's blade had almost caught Shulk several times, but then the reach of the Monado had almost done the same to Marth just as many instances.

Thus far, they were evenly matched; they met each other blow for blow and feint for feint in a flurry of metal, never wavering or gaining the upper hand. They were enjoying themselves immensely, though, as neither felt the need to try and overpower or outmatch the other. They simply reveled in the blade work.

Captain Falcon could appreciate that it was indeed very impressive and that the patterns left in the air by the whirling, dancing blades were indeed very pretty, but he was getting rather annoyed that no one had landed a hit yet.

"Come on, hit each other!" he complained to no avail.

"Try stabbing through that impractical hole in the middle of Shulk's sword!" he suggested. Marth ignored him. Captain Falcon was annoyed that Marth wasn't more like Lucina and then annoyed that Lucina wasn't more like Marth. And then he was confused, so he switched tactics.

"Shulk, use a two handed grip to bat away one of his thrusts!" encouraged the good captain. Shulk would have liked to point out that he had actually attempted that several times, as had his opponent on Shulk's own seeking thrusts, but he was too focused on the fight to talk or to even really care about anything else.

"Okay, this is getting annoying," Captain Falcon groaned. "Annoying and boring. The audience wants to see blows traded! They want to see a connection of a sword with a body, not a connection between two fighters who appreciate the other's skill! C'mon! That's way too highbrow! Save it for later, man! Men. Whatever. JUST HIT EACH OTHER, DAM- aaaargh." Captain Falcon found his protests abruptly silenced by two blades crossing over his Adam's apples and two sets of eyes giving him death stares.

"You forget, Falcon, that my patience does have a limit-"

"-and that you definitely seem like more of a tosser," Shulk continued, "than Marth does, so really, I'd rather hit YOU." Captain Falcon blinked and then pointed the camera's lens at the crossed swords.

"Okay then, let's do that!" The garbled noise that forced its way out of Marth via a rocket of compressed air was somehow a snarl, somehow a sigh, and somehow a prayer to God that no murder would be committed that day.

"You are INSUFFERABLE!" the king exploded after he found his tongue.

"So you and Lucina are more similar than I thought after all! And here I was thinking I was stupid!" Captain Falcon continued grinning in an infuriating manner even as he was met with a slow double blink. The subsequent smile scared him a little, but he would never admit that, not even to himself.

"I guess we are."

"Do you think we won't be charged for aggravated assault if we say 'Falcon' in our defense?" Shulk mused, to which Marth thoughtfully replied, "Perhaps. I don't know your court system as well as you do, obviously."

"I think we'll be fine."

"Fantastic."

"WAAAAAAGH!"

Captain Falcon's physical health and state of not having his inner workings finally revealed to the world by many sword wounds were saved by a man who fell from the sky.

The three stared at the new blue-haired, groggy, and winded man lying at their feet, all of them blinking slowly in confusion(though only Marth did so just twice). They were silent for a good minute, the man's gasps turning to groans of the "Why me?" nature.

"Is he one of these Smash Brothers I'm supposedly a part of now?" Shulk queried, thinking it was the only possible explanation for the man's sudden appearance. It had been the explanation for everything thus far, so the hom didn't see why it shouldn't work a second time. Captain Falcon frowned, putting his hands on his hips.

"No, but he does seem familiar…" In a flash of memory, the good captain's eyes lit up, and he snapped his fingers in epiphany. "Wait! I remember this guy! This is Chrom, Lucina's dad!" Marth's eyes widened in utter horror for the first time since Hardin's downfall, and he snatched Shulk's arm.

"SHULK, RUN!" The young hom was jolted into action by the king's frantic tone, and they bolted to the hills with more speed than their swordplay. At first, Captain Falcon was confused, but then he remembered that Chrom was Lucina's father, and that children only inherit half of each parent's genes. As a blue orb of fire blazed into existence and burned up at him with the broiling rage of a world-scorching sun, Captain Falcon once more refused to admit to himself that he was frightened and grinned at the crown prince.

"You BASTARD!"

"There you go! Isn't that so much more insulting than- ACK!"

* * *

Note: It turns out that throwing/typing shit at people can lead to widespread sickness. I'm not saying I do that nor am I saying that commentary fics do that, but sometimes I think it. I guess more people have to throw toilet paper into the open mouths of operatic shit.


	5. Everybody go what the hell is happening

I have a legitimate excuse aside from video games as to why this took so long to come out, but I can now use my right hand without fear of wrecking my wrist nerves, so yay.

That wasn't subtle. Oh well. By the way, I am actually including a crack pairing in this. It's completely unrequited on the mostly sane person's side, but I still look at it and hang my head in shame at how retarded the premise even is.

* * *

There came a time before every Smash Brothers tournament during which Master Hand reflected on matters over a nice vat of freshly brewed coffee and a platter of Cheetos Puffs. He didn't really ingest these so much as stick his fingers in them and enjoy being completely covered in blemishes. He found it fun and relaxing, and it helped the subsequent wanderings of his mind blaze trails over walking the treaded paths.

Before the initial Smash Brothers tournament, Master Hand had wondered if his decision to start such an enterprise as a fighting tournament would even pay off his initial investment, much less turn a profit. As things turned out, it was a very popular idea and garnered the giant glove a large sum of money, but the damages caused by the fighters themselves had unfortunately equaled the exact amount of profit, so Master Hand only broke even. Still, the disembodied hand had grown to enjoy the company of the original twelve and even derived pleasure from their battles, so he had decided it was worth his time. He had even invited his more or less insane brother(depending on his own mood), Crazy Hand, to join him in managing the tournament and occasionally even fight the Smashers themselves.

Before Melee, Master Hand had metaphorically bit his lip and literally pinched his fingers over the changes to the status quo the newcomers to the World of Trophies would bring and how he would control so many different and powerful beings. As it turned out, he didn't really control them as much as he endured them and thanked his own insight for inviting such calm leaders as Zelda and Marth to the fray. As such, he became confident that adding even more people would pose only slightly more of a problem than he had dealt with those years. Well, it would be so provided the World of Trophies remained free from such monsters as the raging Giga Bowser. That had been a giant stinking pile of shit of a situation that the Smash Brothers tournament had barely survived due to the camaraderie the Smashers had developed, a resigned Princess Peach, and a gargantuan bowl of Ganondorf's strongest alcohol.

Master Hand developed a strong interest in Japanese mythology after the incident.

Before Brawl he had pondered how the hell the Giga Bowser incident had come about and how best to prevent a second coming of such insanity. His answer of giving every Smasher the ability to unlock extremely powerful abilities didn't end up working when it came to preventing any catastrophe as the glorious mistake that was Subspace still happened, but the Final Smashes at least made for an increased variety in the tournament battles.

And now, before the fourth tournament, Master Hand desperately sought what intellectual malady had convinced him to bring his youngest brother Master Core.

Master Core, being a floating ball that could gather flitting darkness around himself in order to create various forms to inhabit, was an uncannily good fighter. He was the strongest of the three, of that there was really no doubt, just as there was definitely no doubt that he was also the smartest of the bunch.

There was also no doubt that he was a complete prick.

Crazy Hand's insanity was overwhelming and rampant, to be sure, but with his insanity came a fascinated self-awareness, a self-awareness that drove Crazy Hand to accompany Master Hand to college and get a major in general psychology and a minor in physics, just so he could study himself and all of the ways he fucked with the laws and theories of those sciences simply by existing. Crazy Hand also wanted to prove Marth's theory of Captain Falcon's accidental time travel as fact and was currently trying to figure out if a Falcon Punch in the right spot could tilt the fabric of space-time just enough for Captain Falcon to slip into a different part of said space-time.

Master Core had gone to college as well, choosing to study various branches of philosophy and literature that never culminated into an actual degree. When approached on the matter and why he had just funneled hundreds of thousands of dollars into what was essentially a black hole, Master Core just said he wanted to learn how to spin tales of absolute bullshit that were just insane enough to be obviously bullshit to generally intelligent people yet worded esoterically enough to convince his fellow intellectuals that he might be on to something but might also be pulling their legs. When asked why again in a more exasperated tone, Master Core admitted that he derived great pleasure from fooling people who were full of it in regards to their education.

When Crazy Hand pointed out that Master Core was himself full of it in regards to his education and was therefore a prick the size of the observable universe, Master Core simply responded, "That doesn't mean it isn't fun."

His levels of prick-ness had not diminished over the years, as evidenced by Master Core's first question upon arriving in the World of Trophies.

"Where's the mansion?"

"We don't need a mansion."

"But it would lend a sense of elegance to this barbaric affair, wouldn't you agree?"

"The maintenance costs would be too high, especially considering how temperamental most of the Smashers are."

"The costs wouldn't be too high if your business were more profitable."

"You're sleeping outside tonight."

"Hey!"

That alone hadn't been enough to tip Master Hand off to how deranged he must have been to even consider inviting Master Core for just a picosecond; no, he had only come to such an epiphany of his own madness after arguing with his little brother as to what he was supposed to be doing.

That morning, Master Hand had led Master Core to the training facility and directed him to the stage simulator, ordering him to transform into a giant lumbering monster of black blackness and start smashing wire frames to death. Master Core had been confused as to why he was supposed to do this, a sentiment to which Master Hand patiently responded, "You're going to be a surprise final fight for the Smashers who challenge Crazy Hand and I to battle."

"Do I have really have to fight them in such a brutish manner?" Master Core had queried in an infuriatingly petulant manner. "They seem like fairly intelligent beings, so can I not simply engage them in such exercises of strategy and intelligence as chess and Risk?"

Master Hand recalled wishing he could perform such a gesture as Marth's slow double blink but resorted to waggling his index finger in annoyance.

"You do realize that there is a great number of them who have never heard of those games and even ones who have no means of participating in them?"

"I'm sure you could implement a system that allows the poor creatures to participate," Master Core had insisted, eliciting an irate huff from his elder brother.

"That would cost too much, especially considering I could have a final challenge at no cost except my own personal frustration," Master Hand explained with a microscopic fraction of his original forced patience.

"Dear brother, as a business major, you really should realize by now that cost would be a non-issue if only you ran this enterprise more effectively and, to put it crudely, raked in the cash!" At that point, Master Hand felt that further conversation would only exacerbate the situation and stormed out of the room as only a floating glove could, locking the door behind him and growling, "Get working on your move set."

Alas, that was not the final indicator of Master Hand's mental degradation. He didn't realize his own position until he had returned to the training facility after several hours, accounting for Master Core's tendency to fume and pout inertly, and noticed that there was a significant lack of both roofing and his brother.

He should have understood that a being that could make itself into basically anything could also form a giant fist and wings at the same time.

* * *

"I move my cavalry… here."

"Wait, that rock's your line of archers!" Ike exclaimed in a burst of anger as he violently jabbed a finger at the offending piece of compacted sediment. "That one's your cavalry!" Robin shook his head slowly at the warrior, carefully explaining, "No, it's not. You should know that I'm not foolish enough to leave such a valuable resource that cannot really defend itself against the bulk of your forces out in the open like that, especially not after you were so successful with your direct charge last time."

"Yeah, I know," Ike fumed, "but I was counting on you being smart like that and was trying to bait your cavalry into an attack so my heavy infantry could stop them and then my own archers could off them from afar!" The tactician raised an eyebrow at this.

"Isn't that what I just did?"

"Well, yes, but I thought they were farther away so my heavy infantry aren't quite in position. If they were right now, they'd be easy bait for your mage corps." Robin pursed his lips, considering Ike's train of thought and tactical reasoning and deeming it mostly sound- but for one thing.

"You do realize that even if I concede that my cavalry rock is my archer rock- which it isn't, by the way- I now know your strategy and have already formulated a plan of counter attack?" Ike threw his arms in the air, scattering his collection of assorted stones and throwing sand all over the master tactician.

"Gods damn it all!" exploded the warrior, his face turning red.

"May I suggest choosing a different medium for your game, one that is less similar across individual pieces and therefore less likely to present such confusing circumstances?" Lucina commented as she practiced various blade techniques upon an upright plank of wood that had formerly been flawless and not reduced to practically half its size by various cuts and stabs.

"I don't think we have any other option," Robin observed, gazing at their surroundings of sand, rubble, displaced pieces of abused wood, and a locked fortress. "Maybe if you carved that plank into-" Lucina looked up from the pile of wood shavings the plank had just recently become.

"Yes?"

"Never mind."

"This is all the fault of that dastard Falcon," the princess muttered darkly, Falchion seeming to darken with her ire. Robin dragged his hands across his face and groaned, "Could you please just let go of that?"

"Yeah," Ike assented, crossing his arms over his stomach. "I don't like being reminded that my status of not being hungry hangs on the whims of a flighty Falcon."

"I rather liked that wordplay, Ike," Robin commented.

"Thanks."

"It's still his fault," Lucina retorted, her eyes roving the sandy courtyard for something else for Falchion to bite and desperately wishing Captain Falcon were there.

"We're not saying it isn't, but seeing as everyone present is hungry and tired, we'd rather sit in ignorance of that fact than be reminded of it every five minutes," Robin pointed out.

"Fair enough," Lucina conceded. After swishing her sword through the air in equal parts frustration and imagined vengeance, she frowned and added, "It wasn't actually every five minutes, was it?"

"There were several times when it got pretty damn close," Ike said with a shrug.

"My apologies," Lucina sighed, sheathing her blade and plopping onto the ground with a huff. "I was being inconsiderate in my rage."

"As per the norm," Robin muttered, massaging his various elbow-related wounds and earning a surprisingly sheepish smile from the princess.

"I do need to work on that, I suppose."

"At least you can acknowledge it," Ike encouraged, offering her a quick grin. The warrior had grown to enjoy the Ylisseans' company after spending most of two days with them, and not all of it was due to the lack of any other form of entertainment. He genuinely appreciated Robin's wit and Lucina's frankness and was happy to have two more people to call friends. Perhaps he could really take back his catch phrase this year after all.

At that moment, the sun was blocked out, eliciting a whoop of joy from Robin and a sigh of relief from Lucina as she flopped onto her back.

"Finally!" exclaimed the tactician. "I was worried we'd never see a cloud!"

"It's surprising that we even got this one, to be completely honest," Ike commented, stretching his arms behind his back and rolling his neck. "In the wilds, it's either clear skies for days at a time or sandstorms."

"Are sandstorms generally black?" Lucina queried, her voice strangely calm and controlled. Ike glanced over at her, noting her gaze was concentrated on the sky, and replied, "Well, no, not really. Why do you ask?" The princess pointed in the direction of her gaze, causing Ike and Robin to also look upwards. The men's jaws plummeted into the depths of the Abyss at the sight and their brains stumbled over themselves as they struggled to understand how Lucina of all people had not overreacted to a giant cloud of pulsating darkness hovering above them. They were also wondering as to what in all of heaven, hell, and earth that thing was, of course, but Lucina's lack of reaction was still more of a shocker.

Then it spoke.

"Ah, finally!" it boomed, condensing itself into a form that seemed to be the upper half of a particularly deformed giant man. "Some people, some beings capable of conversation! At least I assume you are capable of conversation since you are human, but I have experienced many conversations in which even the humans had a lesser grasp of the intricacies of language than even I! And language is supposedly what distances humans from their animal relatives!" As the dark cloud thing of darkness rambled on to no one in particular, it descended ever closer to the courtyard and the mostly dumbstruck trio. Only Lucina had recovered enough from the initial shock to formulate a coherent thought.

"Who are you?" The thing paused in its descent, its featureless visage turning to face the princess. It remained silent for a very, very long time; enough time, in fact, to allow Ike and Robin to regain semblances of sanity and scramble to their feet.

Then it spoke again.

"I am only the humblest of creatures for being allowed to gaze upon your most gorgeous and elegant visage, my lady." The men promptly fell over and Lucina gawked.

"Are you pulling my leg?" she spluttered, edging ever so slowly away from the giant dark form.

"If only I were allowed the slightest and briefest moment of physical contact with such a perfect woman as yourself-" The thing halted midsentence, looking around in confusion for the source of the muffled laughter. Strangely enough, Robin had buried his face in the sand and was shivering uncontrollably in what was most definitely not cold weather, earning him a strange look from Ike and a glare from Lucina. The humanoid torso shrugged and continued. "If I could be granted even a brush-"

"I know not even who you are," Lucina interrupted, her brow furrowed, "so why in Naga's name are you talking to me like that?" The giant's hands slapped into its face with more force than it had intended, causing it to reel directly into the fortress's outer wall and expulse a very violent expletive.

Three sets of eyebrows quirked as it held up a finger, saying "No, no, wait; let me try that again." It straightened an imaginary tie, lifted its head, and then smacked itself in the face again. When it realized it had not in fact collided with solid stone, it swept its arm out as if contemplating a skull and exclaimed, "Am I not allowed to express heartfelt adulation for the most perfect figure I have ever seen?" Lucina's elbow beat Robin's laughter as per the weapon triangle and the humanoid torso continued uninterrupted. "But you are indeed correct, fair maiden, in admonishing me for my haste in professing such adoration and you not even knowing my name! So let me rectify this by-"

"Do you ever shut up?" Ike interjected bluntly, his arms crossed and eyebrow cocked.

"Why would I ever 'shut up' when I can revel in the wondrous complexity of the spoken word?"

"I'll take that as a no," sighed the warrior, and the giant shrugged, saying, "It's not my fault if you can't understand me." Ike's cocked eyebrow was soon joined by its brother in an expression of anger, and the warrior protested, "Hey, I never said that I didn't understand you."

"Alas, some men put more time into bulking their muscle mass than they do into increasing their brain mass," bemoaned the giant, to which Ike furiously retorted, "You can't actually increase your brain mass like you can muscle," and was ignored. The giant held its arms out at its side and began to speak, only to be silenced by a very large and very angry bolt of lightning to the face.

"Just shut up and tell us your name!" Robin growled, still holding his Thoron tome at the ready in case he needed to blast the thing twice more.

"Oh, fine, fine, if you insist," the giant snapped, massaging its head. "I am called Master Core, and I am-"

A completely random and abrupt explosion above their heads cut off Master Core's long-awaited self-introduction as the falling remains of Captain Falcon's racer toppled from the sky, flattening the giant form of Master Core beneath fiery debris.

Robin, Ike, and Lucina stared in utter lack of comprehension as enraged voices rang out from the wreckage.

"- thought I was fighting for my life! Do you understand how terrifying that is for the ruler of a country?" Robin and Lucina's eyes widened at the familiar voice, and they traded excited looks as Ike remained utterly confused.

"It should be about as terrifying as it is for anyone else, yeah? So get over it." Robin immediately restrained Lucina with a gentle tackle and received many elbow strikes for his trouble. Ike was definitely less confused than he was before Captain Falcon had spoken.

"You try leading a country, then, see how it works out for you!"

"I'm sure it would work out just-" The two bickering voices were silenced by a sharp, commanding voice, and Ike heaved a massive sigh of relief. He would soon be able to eat.

"If you two do not silence yourselves this instant, I will lock you in a room together. Indefinitely."

"And I will gladly help Marth in this endeavor."

"Thank you, Shulk. Now, where is the door? Oh, wait; Lucina threw it at me."

"I really am sorry about my daughter's behavior," Chrom apologized, and Ike could swear he heard Marth shrug.

"A lot of behavior is genetic, after all," Shulk observed.

"What are you implying?" Chrom asked, his tone dangerously calm, and a sound that was somehow a snarl, somehow a sigh, and somehow a prayer to God that no murder would be committed that day exploded into being amidst much confusion.

"Could someone please just get us out of here?" Marth snarled. "I am at my wit's end, yet there is no end in sight!"

"It's also getting a little toasty in here," Shulk commented nervously, "and my design for fireproof apparel hasn't actually been tested yet." At this, Ike strode over to the burning heap of metal, drew Ragnell, and hacked apart the metal to reveal four very haggard, cramped, and frustrated men.

"Well, that was easy," Marth observed sheepishly from his position on what used to be the floor of the vehicle. "I'm not sure why I didn't think of that myself." Ike grinned at his old friend, extending a hand.

"You have a valid excuse, all things considered," Ike pointed out as the king took his hand and stumbled to his feet. The warrior then pulled Marth into a crushing bear hug, winning a laugh from his friend in the process.

"It certainly is good to see you, Ike- hey, what are you doing with my keys?" Marth stared after the warrior as he bolted to the keep's door, waving over his shoulder.

"Too hungry, can't talk, bye!" The king blinked twice slowly, and then noticed the giant dark hand sticking out from under his former prison. He looked to Robin and Lucina. They shrugged. Marth nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but he immediately threw himself to the side as Captain Falcon stepped into the open.

"You DASTARD!"

"Don't you walk away from me, bastard!"

"In all seriousness, Marth, I am beginning to hate your family- AAAAGH!"

* * *

Note: I don't even know what the fuck happened to this chapter. Shoot me. Seriously.


End file.
